


Shattered Star

by ElvenMaia



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anger, Angst, But he’s rlly trying okay, Dysfunctional Family, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Feanorian lamps - Freeform, Finwë’s A+ parenting, Fëanor is a young prodigy, Fëanor is just depressed, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Help, How Do I Tag, Indis is a sweetheart, No Incest, No Slash, Tension, Years of the Trees, and repressed, but we love him anyways, feanor is a brat, mostly - Freeform, stepmother problems, young feanor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenMaia/pseuds/ElvenMaia
Summary: A glimpse into Fëanáro’s life when he was young, rebellious, and grieving a lost mother he’d never even known. Fëanáro is furious, Finwë is lost, and Indis is trying her best to connect with the fiery young nér. Also featuring the early innovations of what became to be known as Fëanorian lamps.
Relationships: Finwë/Indis (Tolkien), Fëanor | Curufinwë & Finwë, Fëanor | Curufinwë & Indis
Kudos: 13





	Shattered Star

Shattered Star

_Note : I imagine Fëanáro to be just approaching his majority in this story, looking about sixteen in human years._

oOo

A string of words floated off Fëanáro’s lips. Dark lashes hovered over proud cheekbones, his brow furrowed in concentration.

They weren’t so much coherent phrases than they were a breathy exhale that shaped into some semblance of a song to keep his focus from straying. An old poem, it was, something about a land free of sorrows bathed in gentle moonlight, where the very air invigorated one’s bones. In other words, it was about Aman; supposedly where Fëanáro dwelt.

‘ _A land free of sorrow’. Hmph. I’d call it otherwise._

That mere cue to his mother brought another fresh wave of pain shooting through his heart.

He chanted faster to break the train of thought from striking him down into that thorn-lined gutter again. Suddenly his panting breaths and trembling limbs became all too apparent as he worked. Where he was once a shining pillar overlooking a city of white cliff-stones, hair awash like ink in water, and a silver orb glowing beneath slender fingers, he was now...just a boy. Hands splayed over the crystal sphere on the worktable in vigorous desperation that cast eerie shifting shadows on the walls. Louder and faster the poem came, edged with a forced hardness written in every tense line of his body.

It wasn’t— _staying_ —!

Again he increased the volume of his voice. Again he ground his Light into the blasted crystal. Unnatural perspiration rolled down his heaving chest. His knuckles where clenched hard enough to match the white pallor of his face.

Three.

Two.

_One_.

He shoved his Light out completely with every last bit of energy he had. (Which wasn’t that much, really, given that he’d worked on this stupid lamp for approximately five days now. Nonstop.)

Blinding rays struck out in every direction, knifing from where he’d concentrated his power through his hands. He stumbled back with a strangled cry to cover his eyes, tripping over a set of tools he’d angrily thrown down behind him. He crashed to the ground in a heap. An array of black and white spots morphed across his vision, and a million little needles pricked his hands to the tune of the fluctuating cadence pulsing between his temples.

The crystal orb (this _stupid_ lamp—) fell off where it had been sitting on the work table with a crystalline thunk. It sluggishly rolled until stopped by his outstretched fingers on the floor.

It flickered dully, then sputtered out like a quenched flame.

Shaking from too many things at once to acknowledge, Fëanáro angrily heaved the orb up and smashed it against the opposite wall adorned with a rack of chisels. It shattered with a pitiful cry, the pieces sending a splatter of reflection across the unlit room. Several shards flew into his face as if avenging the destruction of a thing so clever and beautiful.

Fëanáro remained where he had fallen on the floor, staring at the ceiling as he watched the flickering spots expand across his vision, then swallow his consciousness whole.

oOo

He eventually woke up, feeling hollow, exhausted, and wishing he hadn’t woken up at all. _Like his mother._

He smashed fist angrily angrily into the floor. A few shards of the broken lamp he’d been working on stuck to the flesh of his hand. He stared hard at them as if they could dissolve by his intensity alone.

Several tools poked into his back but he couldn’t summon the energy to pick himself up.

He looked around. Everything was in place the way he’d left it. That was a relief. It wouldn’t do for anyone to enter and witness the massive failure he’d concocted. Especially his father.

Thankfully, Fëanáro always made it a point to fly into a rage when interrupted during the makings of a project. That way everyone left him alone.

Fëanáro had always been passionate about his ideas. There was never a point in time when his mind wasn’t whirring, or that his fingers weren’t fiddling with something. Always burning, always striving, always _doing_.

Apparently that wasn’t normal. According to others, he had an addiction. ‘ _He works like a man possessed,’_ they would say.

‘ _It is his way of mourning.’ ‘Perhaps, but it is wholly unnatural.’_

Fëanáro didn’t care. All he could offer was a patronizing smile mismatched with dark, loathing eyes.

Other people couldn’t really put him off easily. (Besides Finwë, of course... Fëanáro lived for him.) Unless they spoke of her. His mother.

Míriel Therindë.

‘ _What a gentle soul she was; what a dear woman. The Nolodolí couldn’t ask for a better Queen.’_

He could only listen in awe, and wonder. Try to picture her in his mind. Try to imprint her features into his memory from the torn, faded sketch he’d confiscated of her from his father’s safe box. (He was surprisingly skilled at lock picking.)

‘ _Awwh, you look just like your mother, dear! A beauty, she was!’_

He hated that one. Everyone said it. Such a simple statement kindled a fire in his heart that he’d never been able to quell. The fire was shaped in a ring, to protect a certain something inside of him from being broken again. The fire was named Indifference.

Sighing despondently and moving through the shattered pieces of his latest innovation as if they meant nothing to him, he left the room the way it was.

He passed hardly a servant, and he was glad for it. Though his expression was stony as always, (not much could jar it) he still did not feeling like being scrutinized.

Absentmindedly, he bathed and changed into something appropriate for his father’s presence, leaving his hair moist and unplanted this time.

Squaring his shoulders, he prepared to brave the outside world with his powerful presence and unflinching gaze. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long before it crumbled, though.

oOo

He found Finwë lounging easily in the parlor, a book splayed open in front of him. Fëanáro’s heart stuttered for a moment upon realizing this imposing figure was his father. His heavily bejeweled fingers glittered dully in the light warming the air. Fëanáro shivered despite it. What was he going to say?!

Finwë looked up. His face brightened.

“Ah! Fëanáro, my son! Come, sit here. You’ve been working too hard again,” he scolded, but the effect was lost in the smile on his face. Fëanáro was not fooled but did as he was bid and sank down on the edge of the seat, not allowing himself to relax.

This was Finwë’s customary greeting for whenever Fëanáro decided to reappear after a long stretch of working on a project. It was hollow at this point, merely a preliminary advancement for justifying his eagerness to hear of Fëanáro’s successes.

Right on cue, Finwë spoke, “Another success do you come to report?”

‘ _No, but I want more than anything to please you...’_

“Indeed, father. It is not ready for presentation, however...”

‘... _because it is lying in shatters about the floor...’_

Finwë chuckled and fondly clasped Fëanáro’s shoulder. He glared coldly at Finwë until he removed his touch with a waver to his smile and uncomfortable clearing of his throat.

“Always so perfect, Fëanáro... You need not strive for it so hard...”

Fëanáro stiffened. “Nonsense, my lord. I will only put out my best.”

“Son, please... We are alone, none of this ‘lord’ nonsense,” said Finwë, strain creeping into his voice.

Finwë had a difficult time even looking at his firstborn. The boy was the spitting image of his mother, and Finwë was doing his best to move on... But Fëanáro only got colder...

The boy never failed to express his loathing of his relationship with Indis, but Finwë could not give her up so easily. Fëanáro shouldn’t be so selfish. He had to understand that Finwë needed her. Really needed her.

The Noldo fidgeted uncomfortably and studied his hands, laying the book aside. Fëanáro narrowed his eyes, reading his father’s movements.

“Um... well... I would like showcase your work to some guests tomorrow... It would be quite a wonder to reveal your newly finished project by then...” Finwë eyed his son’s expression carefully. It didn’t change.

“Indis... and several companions of hers will join us for the evening meal on the morrow, and I would like if you—“

“I won’t be there,” Fëanáro interrupted with an edge, his eyes steely and chilling. Finwë sighed.

“Fëanáro, _please_...”

“ _Father_ ,” he began, his words drawn out and condescending. “I _can_ and _will_ do _many_ things for you, but anything associating with _Indis_ , are _not_ among them—”

“ _Fëanáro Curufinwë!_ You will not disrespect me with that tone! I am your father, and I am your _king_ , and I have _just_ about lost patience with you! You _will_ be there!” Finwë said in a raised voice in response to the boy’s scowl.

Really! He tried his best to be kind and lenient with Fëanáro, but all he received was this disrespectful insolence! Why, he ought to just—

Finwë took a deep breath and gave Fëanáro a look that said he was not fooling. Taking this as a dismissal, Fëanáro whirled on his heel and stormed back down to the room he’d been so eager to leave earlier.

oOo

He slammed the door shut with a bang, setting the shards of broken crystal a-chiming. He glared balefully at them and they glittered back as if mocking him.

He was a fool! _A fool!_ He’d told his father that this stupid lamp was finished, and now Fëanáro had driven himself into a corner.

He still had the formula he’d used for the crystal. If he worked all night, he may still be able to have it ready for the arrival of the guests. _Maybe_.

But what had taken most of his time and energy was transferring Light into the lamps. They were entirely unique because of their undimmed brilliance that they would remain just as bright without needing any fuel for millennia to come. And if he made several, they would all link together, thus sharing the light of one of the lamps Fëanáro would have to manually set aglow with the sheer intensity of his _fëa_.

Fëanáro was not powerful enough. He could not muster enough Light to set even one of the lamps aflame.

Not that it mattered anymore, since he’d broken the only one he’d ever successfully made.

The Noldo kicked at the shards and wondered absently if he could still infuse the broken pieces with Light (surely, this would take less energy and willpower) then merge them together in the desired product. Or leave them as an array resembling the stars.

He scowled at his reflection in one of the pieces.

No. Fëanáro was a craftsman of his own. He wouldn’t lower himself to trying to replicate the work of a higher being. He was unique, he was original.

Even if he did attempt his former idea, and even if it worked, he would still not be satisfied. He would not toil to make an impression on Indis’ brood. _No_.

Fëanáro narrowed his eyes at his reflection and set his jaw. He would not show the guests any of his work on the morrow, should his father will it or not.

Perhaps he was being immature, or childish, or petty. But he did not care. The way he saw it, Indis had intruded upon them with her lofty presence. Trying to _replace_ Míriel.

Fëanáro, and Fëanáro’s Fire had come _solely_ from Míriel, and he would not use the skill that came with this Fire to please Míriel’s undeserving imposter.

Wrath be on him, he would not do this thing for his father.

oOo

The next day, Fëanáro sat neatly between his father and a nér—one of Indis’ companions—, a smirk dancing behind his eyes because he knew full well that his workshop was still in the disarray he’d left it in the night prior.

The chatter was light and he nodded respectfully along with it as he was supposed to. He was bored to death, but Finwë was beaming.

Fëanáro resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Indis’ flaunting energy grated on every possible nerve and it took all his restraint not to fidget in his seat. His heart had nearly stopped when she looked directly at him and asked him a question that required a coherent response. Instinct had saved him and he’d managed a cool reply that had sent a chorus of chuckles around the table.

He hated this. Truly.

Finwë seemed to sense his discomfort and occasionally sent him warning looks. Fëanáro didn’t really understand what his father wanted from him. It wasn’t as if he could simply _stop_ loathing these people and their fake smiles and glittering jewelry that was aggravatingly _clashing_ with everything and _ai_ —

He pushed back from the table, quietly requesting to be excused. Finwë seemed grieved, but nodded his consent. Fëanáro had managed to stay much longer than Finwë thought he would, and it was all he could do now.

oOo

Fëanáro had been staring blankly at the wall of his room, trying to quell his emotion when Finwë entered timidly. He came and sat next to Fëanáro, his fingers fidgeting uncharacteristically with the edge of his sleeve.

Fëanáro narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Ah— Fëanáro? I-I know it is much to ask, but—“ He broke off with a sigh.

“Yes, father?”

This attitude seemed to coax the rest of the request from Finwë, though the young nér’s voice had been dry and weary.

“I have been wanting to present Indis with a gift for a while now, but have not been able to find one that was fitting. You, however, have some of the best workmanship I have ever seen and was thinking that perhaps—“

“Yes... father...?”

Finwë massaged his temple in defeat. “I was thinking perhaps you would be willing to allow me to give her something of your making. It does not have to be anything much, but—“

Never on his life would Fëanáro give Indis something of his. But now... however...

“Of course, my lord!” he supplied smoothly. The title was surely meant as a barb and Finwë nearly flinched at it.

What had he been thinking?! Of course Fëanáro wouldn’t—

He looked up in surprise when no cutting sarcastic remark followed this.

“Y-you truly mean it?”

Fëanáro almost felt bad, seeing Finwë’s genuinely pained expression. But he hardened his heart and plowed through.

“Indeed! You may even gift her the new lamp—“

Finwë was startlingly astonished at this point. Fëanáro was passionate about his creations and always guarded them jealously, especially his newer ones. Míriel herself could approach them on the spot and he wouldn’t be anymore surprised than he was now.

Relief deflated through the Noldo.

“You mean this?!”

“Yes!” Fëanáro insisted, trying his best to keep the steel out of his eyes. Finwë was too grateful to notice. He wrapped his arms around the boy and laughed, pretending not to notice him stiffen like a board.

oOo

Fëanáro was waiting for them in his workshop, lounging easily against the wall and twirling a small chisel between his fingers.

The door opened as expected, Finwë peeking in. His eyes widened in obvious alarm when he noticed the chaos within the usually impeccable room.

Ah. So he recognized that something was wrong. There was no innocence in Fëanáro’s plan.

He heard Indis’ soft laugh sounded on the other side of the door and Finwë reluctantly relented, allowing her to push the door open. She seemed unfazed by the mess. Her eyes sparkled despite the misery apparent on Finwë’s face.

He uncomfortably cleared his throat. Fëanáro cocked his hip and awaited his father’s intervention.

“Fëanáro this is not funny.”

“Whyever not, father?”

Finwë stiffened. His jaw clenched with restrained anger. Indis had sensed the tension, surely, but remained in good spirits.

The shattered pieces of the lamp were still strewn across the floor. And Finwë knew it. He seemed corralled in. He did not know what to say. He did not want to exchange harsh words with the boy in front of Indis...

But the boy had gone and lied to his face! He'd said the lamp would be ready only to find that Fëanáro had evidently broken it in a fit of rage--

Indis, ever cheerful, bent down and picked up one of the broken pieces, examining it in the light.

“Oh! Fëanáro! Did you make these?! They are stunning!”

Finwë’s cheeks burned. Whether from anger or embarrassment, Fëanáro could not tell.

But Indis’ exclamation angered and pacified him all at once. He was used to hollow praise, but there was a sincere delight in her eyes that he begrudged her.

_Imposter!_ his mind screamed and he grit his teeth.

Finwë’s eyes were suddenly cold and hard. He’d managed to collect himself and now took on that imposing demeanor that struck fear and pain into Fëanáro’s heart all at once.

All he ever wanted was to please his father... but sometimes... with some things... he simply could not! He could not stand Indis’ presence any longer. He couldn’t bear her wondering eyes scrutinizing (appreciating) his work.

Violent emotion of unknown origin burst from his chest like a dam collapsed. Without thinking, he slunk forward and struck the piece of the crystal lamp out of Indis’ hand with a snarl.

“ _Do not defile a work dedicated to my mother alone!”_ he yelled. She took a bewildered step back. Fëanáro was crumbling in on himself.

“Just _leave_ ,” he said, almost pleading with fresh tears welling up in his eyes. He pushed past Finwë and stormed down the hall to his room. A remnant of their conversation floated down to him.

“Oh, Indis, I apologize dearly. I will be sure that he is fittingly punished—“

Finwë’s voice was furious and quavering. Indis’ was low and starkly calm in comparison.

“No, no he does not need that... Can you not recognize a broken heart when you see one?”

The rest was drowned out by his choked sobs as the empty hole in his chest where Míriel ought to be pulsed with a burning pain as it always did. He was simply a master of disguising it.

oOo

Someone opened his door and approached him in his room. He did not turn away from where he was huddled against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His tears had rust on his face by now.

He had been preparing himself for Finwë’s stern baritone come to dish out his punishment. So Fëanáro jumped in surprise when it was not Finwë at all, but Indis instead.

He couldn’t decide which was worse.

“ _Please_ just _leave_ me.”

Her face was pained. She sank down beside him, careful not to intrude on him. He’d say she’d intruded the moment she decided to love his father.

“Fëanáro, allow me but a moment to speak. Your mother—“

“I want none of your pity.”

“And I do not offer it...

“I understand your mother would have been the bright star to light your path, and I am in no way trying to replace her. You must understand this Fëanáro. But please, allow me a chance to show that we can get along. We both love your father, and should try our best to show him that we do. It would mean the world to him. Maybe you will find another star along the way...”

Fëanáro scowled at his fidgeting fingers. Then raised his eyes of flashing steel to her pleading ones.

“No, Indis. You see; I have chosen to _shatter_ my stars.”

He rose to his feet, leaving her there on the floor, and whirled out of the door, pushing Finwë back from where he had been listening in. The young _nér_ glared at his father before crashing down to the lower levels, most likely to bury himself in his workshop for Eru knows how long again.

Finwë entered the room and shared a knowing glance with Indis. He sighed and sank down on the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face after Indis shook her head.

She placed a comforting hand on his knee and he took her hand, thoughtfully rubbing circles into the back of it with his thumb.

Now they both faced the same problem: how they would tell Fëanáro of their engagement...

oOoOoOo

**A/N:** Unbeta-ed!

I'm not sure if I like the way this turned out yet, so I would love to hear what y’all think!


End file.
